Inkwar
by Asuterisuku
Summary: Fifteen years after the events of Inkdeath, An extraordinary boy with extraordinary abilities is thrust into the adventure of a lifetime. Alternate title: Tintenkrieg


**Yes, I know that this is two months late, but with my longest chapter ever, I believe it was worth it. Please enjoy the story of the Inkwar.**

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1**

**Setting the Scene**

Vol woke at about dawn, which was when his flight usually ended, and he was quite excited about the day. He had no doubt that Resa was also waking up at this point in time. What he had believed to be a dream for the majority of his life, he had recently discovered to be a reality: He could really turn into a swift and fly! It was no wonder that Meggie always stared at him with envy. Her husband Doria had built artificial wings for her about ten years ago, before they were married, and she could go quite the distance using them. Using them, however, was a hassle, and while she enjoyed them Meggie was soon forced to resign trying to fly by her own power.

The reason Vol was excited, of course, was that today was his fifteenth birthday. It was the day that he would finally join the strolling players, and leave home in order to see as much of the world as he could. And of course, this trip was just to prepare him for the long journey that Vol thought he would have to make in order to get to the faraway land that Darius was always telling him about, and that he claimed was the homeland of his parents. A land where there were no faeries or glass men, but carts that moved themselves, flying machines that filled the sky, and there were weapons that could be far more fearsome that the sword without even touching you.

Apart from the excitement, there was something odd in the air, like a sort of tension. It had started the previous night while he and Resa were out flying, but when Vol voiced his concern to her she simply remained silent as if it was of no concern to them. In any case, Mo had left. He had probably gone to Ombra in order to fix a book for either Violante or Jacopo as was his trade, but by this point in time Vol knew about his father's previous life as the Bluejay, and had no idea where Mo had actually gone. He also knew that Mo had always loved books, but it never occurred to him that his father could read the words off a page into reality. He also didn't know that he had inherited this power, but that is a story for another time.

This caused a bit of a dilemma for Vol, for while he wanted to leave with the strolling players as soon as possible he knew he could not do so without at least saying good bye to Mo. After all, he was the man who raised him from birth to be the man he would be from now on. He could at least say thank you for all he'd done. Of course, that meant that Vol would have to find him first, and that was easier said than done. As was said earlier, Mo could have been anywhere.

Of course, Vol was not the only one feeling this sense of tension. Not too far away, in Ombra, Jacopo, the child of Cosimo and Violante and rightful heir to the throne at which his uncle now sat in the Castle of Night (although how a child younger than he could be his uncle was at the time beyond his comprehension), was more than a little worried. Though they rarely spoke, Jacopo was concerned from the silence that seemed to haunt his mother's room, where she would spend a large portion of her time reading books that had been repaired and bound by the man that Jacopo once knew as the Bluejay, whom he had helped to kill his loathsome grandfather, the Adderhead. The White Book, which had been used to bind death from the Adderhead, he had ordered burned shortly after the three words that had killed the Silver Prince were written (though he still hadn't the slightest idea what those three words were), so that Death would never be thwarted again.

But of course, he was worried because lately, Violante's health had been growing poor. He had sent a message to Roxane, who he knew as the greatest herbalist throughout the world, but she never came to his aide. Jacopo thought that he understood why. While his grandfather made him look like a weakling, he still hadn't exactly been the kindest ruler these past fifteen years. He pondered this as one of Violante's soldiers approached him.

The man looked like he had been drinking, and he smelled of alcohol. Jacopo had to wonder why his mother had sent him. "My lord," he said, slurring his speech. He was obviously drunk. "Your mistress said..." He paused as he released a loud belch. "She said that you gotta go see her right away. She's not looking so good."

"I will take that into advisement, as you should take the advice I have for you. Stop drinking immediately," he said as he sent the man off, knowing that he would be completely ignored in this case. It was always the same with men like him. They just could not stay away from the bottle. He probably had a flask of some drink or another on him. Jacopo struggled to wrap his head around how a man could be so drunk and follow instructions that didn't involve the drink at the same time. It seemed like a miracle. In any case, Jacopo listened to the man's words and went to his mother's room in order to see why she had summoned him, although he probably already knew.

He heard coughing as he entered Violante's chambers, and he knew that his mother didn't have long left. "Jacopo," she said as he closed the door. "You've grown up to be a handsome man. I swear that you look just like your father. However, I don't think I'll be able to see you become king." Violante coughed violently, and as she calmed, Jacopo was worried that this would be the last time that he saw her alive.

"You know what I said before, when you were younger. The same applies now." What Violante had said was that if she were to pass away, naturally or otherwise, then he was to take command of her army of men who really weren't much older than Jacopo was himself, and some even a little younger. However, that didn't matter. As long as they were undyingly loyal to him, their age didn't matter in the least. What concerned him was that she was bringing that up now.

Jacopo was on the verge of tears, but he didn't dare show it. Not to his mother, and not to anyone else. He could see that she was in absolute misery, and that she was dying. There was one thing to ask: Could he handle killing his own mother, or would his conscience drive him mad? He looked into her eyes. Violante knew exactly what he was thinking, and simply nodded. Jacopo grabbed her blanket and held it to her face hard, covering her mouth and nose. She didn't struggle at all, which disturbed him most of all. When he checked her pulse, there was nothing. It was over.

Violante was dead.

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**A bit of drama to get the story started. Normally, I'm not very good with things like this, but I think that I pulled it off extremely well! If you agree or think otherwise, Review and help me make the stories, and really all my stories, even better.**


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